Chapter 28 - King Cinderella: Two Hearts Entwined in Sin

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Chapter 28

 

 

Ten months passed since Chalon had been taken prisoner by Varius, and the seasons turned once again—autumn returned.

 

The King, having fallen ill over the winter, passed away to the sorrow of nobles and commoners alike, and the mourning period had already ended. According to Varius, who had been by the king's side until the end, the King worried about Chalon even in his final moments. But Chalon, imprisoned in the high tower by that very same Varius, had never been granted a final meeting. Not since that masquerade ball had he seen his father—not even at the funeral.

 

It could be blamed on Varius for refusing to release him, but Chalon himself had also been bedridden with a deep psychological malaise. Even so, regrets could do nothing to change the past.

 

Now, Varius had ascended the throne of Aschenptel as an unmarried king, while Chalon, as the king's younger brother, remained first in the line of succession.

 

Erald's whereabouts remained unknown. Even with Varius wielding his full power as monarch—not just within the kingdom but reaching out to allied nations—citing theft and treason as justification for the search, no sightings had surfaced.

 

Erald's striking appearance made him hard to overlook. Rumors whispered that he might have fled to a country outside the alliance, or even to a distant continent across the sea. Yet others speculated that he might already be dead.

 

Despite hearing these rumors from Varius, Chalon firmly believed that Erald had escaped successfully.

 

Confined in a prison without a single window, he could not even ask the birds of the skies for news of Erald's safety. And still, he believed—unshakably—that Erald lived.

 

Strangely enough, Varius, too, stubbornly denied any claim that Erald was dead. No matter how much Chalon pleaded, Varius would not abandon the pursuit. Even after ten months, search parties were being dispatched to every corner of the realm.

 

"Still carving those dog figures, I see. You never tire of it, do you?"

 

At the topmost chamber of the northern tower, Chalon continued to carve crystal.

 

His charges of heresy had been suppressed by Varius, who claimed instead that Chalon was suffering from a mental illness. Thus, Chalon was not treated as a criminal, but as a patient confined for his own wellbeing. Under such circumstances, all he could do was pray for Erald's safety—and secretly mourn the two dogs that had died.

 

For that purpose, he had raw crystal with visible coloration brought in, along with a pedal-operated polishing wheel and tools. Already, he had carved nineteen small but finely detailed sculptures of Belfe and Liege.

 

He had just begun working on the twentieth—rough shaping completed.

 

"Once it's finished, please sell it as usual. I'd like the proceeds to be used for dogs without owners. I've heard that when starving dogs wander into town, they're sometimes beaten to death with sticks after attacking children. So please—donate the money for the sake of both people and dogs."

 

"Compared to being beaten to death, dogs that are shot cleanly in the head are lucky."

 

"...!"

 

Chalon's face darkened as he gripped the mallet and chisel used for carving the crystal, his brother's words from behind cutting through the air.

 

Indeed—Varius had shot Belfe and Liege with a single, precise bullet each.

 

Whether it had been an act of mercy or merely a show of his sharpshooting skills, Chalon never knew. But having his beloved dogs killed before his eyes, and then denied even the dignity of burial—their bodies left exposed to the elements—left a wound in his heart that refused to heal. The nightmares still haunted him.

 

That day, he had made a terrible mistake. And because of that, the dogs had died.

 

He had neither understood his brother's true aims nor his capacity for cruelty.

 

Chalon had believed that by disappearing—taking on the full burden of heresy alone—Varius would lose interest in Erald and let him go. It was a naïve assumption.

 

He had claimed to have committed an unholy act with a dog, thinking Varius wouldn't believe such a claim, and that the dogs would be spared. He never imagined they would be punished.

 

Out of the ten beloved dogs, two had broken free from the kennel and run desperately through the forest to save him—brave and loyal souls who should have been honored.

 

But he had blamed Belfe for a false sin and dragged Liege to death alongside him.

 

My brother never intended to cast me out of the castle. If I had thought more clearly, I would have realized that. But instead, I twisted everything to suit my hopes. Even though I was isolated and under watch, I still failed to understand his true intentions...

 

Mistakes and failures are part of life, but some things are forgivable—and others, unforgivable.

 

There are errors that can be repented for, with shame or with punishment—and then there are things that can never be undone.

 

"In about two more months, it will be a full year since Erald James escaped."

 

In the beautiful room—perfect in all but the absence of windows—Chalon trembled at his brother's words.

 

Despite being the king, Varius visited this room every day—lounging on the settee with a book, offering one-sided updates, sometimes even forcing Chalon to dance with him. It was as though he were visiting a mistress.

 

Now that a full year was approaching, Chalon could not predict what his brother might say—or do—next.

 

"We've expended an absurd amount of time and even more outrageous sums of tax money searching for a single man. Those who whisper that he may have died alone in some ditch are likely hoping I'll give up. After all, few know the true extent of his crimes. Public opinion says the cost of the search far outweighs the crime."

 

"...Will you give up, then?"

 

Though he had been disappointed time and again, Chalon could not help but ask, turning his whole body toward Varius, hope trembling in his voice.

 

Since his only connection to the outside world was through Varius, Chalon couldn't know how things truly stood. But from his brother's scattered complaints, he had gathered that many in court had urged him to abandon the chase for Erald.

 

Some had even suggested granting him a pardon in conjunction with the late king's death.

 

"This summer brought drought, followed by hail damage. This autumn is sure to bring a poor harvest—one unlike any we've seen in years. There's no fear of famine yet, thanks to past abundance, but if next year is the same, the people will begin to despair. Some even say that I—who ascended the throne while indulging in hunting and offending the spirits of the land—am to blame. And if I keep wasting vast sums of tax money chasing a single thief, the people may eventually unite and call me a fool, unworthy to be compared to the former king. But I can't go around hanging every slanderer for treason, and if things continue like this, I won't like where it leads."

 

"Brother…"

 

"Part of me doesn't care what those fools say. But even so, it's still unpleasant."

 

So saying, Varius approached—and took hold of Chalon's wrist.

 

As Chalon gently let go of the tools in his hands, his brother undid the ribbon that tied back his hair.

 

Chalon had already been worried upon hearing about the drought and the hail. But this was the first he'd learned that some among the people were blaming Varius for it.

 

Most of the common folk saw Varius as wasteful, which only intensified their resentment.

 

Thinking of how proud his brother was—how much he hated being compared to others—Chalon couldn't help but feel a flicker of pity.

 

There were many things he could not forgive, and no matter what, he could not say he liked his brother. But Varius was someone he had known more intimately than anyone since childhood. He had been born with the heavy fate of ruling a kingdom laid on his shoulders from the moment he entered the world—a burden that the second prince, born to be cherished, could never truly comprehend.

 

To preserve his reputation as king, Varius should pardon Erald and abandon the pursuit. Erald, now likely hidden in a foreign land unfriendly to Aschenptel, might be suffering in ways I can't even imagine. I only hope Erald would soon be free and live a life true to himself. At the very least, let him have his freedom…

 

As his brother gently combed his hair—awkwardly, yet with care—Chalon sealed away his truest prayer.

 

Though he had once longed to fulfill their promise to meet a year later at the lakeside villa, to then live freely with Erald… he now understood all too well the depth of Varius's obsession.

 

Now that Varius had ascended the throne and gained a position beyond reproach, there were no longer any checks on his actions. He had confined Chalon to this prison with only small, stained-glass inlays for light, forbidding him even interacting with animals or birds.

 

Though king, Varius came morning and night without fail, opening the door himself, attending to Chalon's needs, even choosing servants who were deaf children to bring meals or clean—ensuring, in an almost pathological way, that Chalon remained utterly isolated.

 

But this was not some petty cruelty.

 

The truth was, the loneliest of all was Varius himself.

 

Despite possessing everything, he remained unfulfilled. He wanted to dominate his only brother, to keep Chalon entirely to himself and bend him to his will.

 

"Your curls are as beautiful as ever. I had a golden and pearl-inlaid comb made to match your blond hair and eyes, but the teeth turned out too fine. I'll only use it for the ends, and brush the rest."

 

"I'm sorry to trouble Your Majesty with such things."

 

"I enjoy it. No need to apologize. You've gone from a caged bird to my very own doll."

 

"A bird at least has the chance to spread its wings. A doll can't even walk on its own."

 

"Exactly. All you must do is wait here patiently, my lovely doll, for my return."

 

Varius surely sensed that Chalon still longed to see Erald.

 

He was not so blind as to miss it. But even so, Chalon knew full well he must never show his lingering attachment to Erald in front of his brother.

 

Time can shift circumstances and soften people's hearts. Now that Varius finally seemed close to forgiving Erald, Chalon believed he had to do what he could to stay in his brother's favor.

 

"Chalon, I'll be staying late tonight. Let me read to you."

 

"Thank you… I'd like that."

 

As Varius tended to his long, golden curls, Chalon lowered his gaze to the crystal block he had been carving. He had hoped to sculpt the joyful forms of Belfe and Liege bounding through the fields—but he couldn't ignore his brother's gesture of goodwill.

 

Guided by Varius, he moved to the canopy bed.

 

"You've been reading to me quite often lately."

 

Since Chalon couldn't read small print, he was genuinely grateful to be read to. But unlike Erald's readings, which had felt like watching a play come to life, Varius read without emotion, a little too fast, with a detached tone that left the words hollow.

 

"There was a rather conspicuous book at the forest villa where you and Erald James used to meet."

 

Sitting on the bench beside the bed, Varius opened a cloth-covered box he'd brought in from outside the prison.

 

From within the red box, embroidered in gold, he drew a pure white book.

 

"Ah…!"

 

"The spine is white, the title written in silver. From a distance, it looks entirely blank. It's called The Glass Slipper—a foolish tale in which a simple common girl is noticed by a prince and, after much pursuit, becomes his bride. Utter nonsense, but apparently very popular among women."

 

The implication was clear—there was no logic, no justice in a commoner like Erald and a royal prince like Chalon being joined together, across both class and gender.

 

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